


Future Rust

by eigengrau



Series: Girl!Will Graham [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case, Hannibal takes Will home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Rust

They pull in Keith Brian Hollerzhine at 1:15 AM, and Will falls asleep in Hannibal's car. She's exhausted, her skull heavy and sloshing with someone else's blood, and the window is cool under her cheek. The headlights are white ghosts on the side of the road, fluttering in the black like a heartbeat. Only one girl died- only one girl is going to be in the ground tomorrow morning, and there's one girl who'll be sleeping in her own bed tonight. She'll be having nightmares, but she'll be alive.

Will sleeps on the smooth leather seat of Hannibal's car, and when she wakes up they're parked in his garage.

He's watching her as she blinks awake in the dark, and she can see his face in green light and sharp shadows from the car's dashboard. His eyes glint, and his hand reaches over to rest on her thigh, kneading through the fabric of her jeans.

"I'm going to buy you a dress," he says.

Will makes a face. "Dresses are impractical," she huffs groggily. "I can't run in a dress. That's what pants are for."

His hand moves up to cup her through the denim. Will hums low in the back of her throat. "But," Hannibal leans over, pops the button on her fly, rubs her with clever fingers, "they're so hard to get you out of."

"Um," she's not even close to awake enough for this, "Yeah, yes, okay, I'll give you that."

He gets out of the car and she grinds her hips against thin air while she waits for him to cross to the other side. Ever the gentleman, he opens her door and helps her out onto the cold cement floor of the garage.

He guides her into the dark house, up through the kitchen and the stairwell. He doesn’t turn on the lights- just steers her with his broad hand on the small of her back. One foot goes in front of the other. She can feel herself flagging as she walks down Hannibal’s meticulously carpeted hall, leaning into his touch. It’s been days since she’s had a proper night’s sleep, weeks since she’s been able to rest. Hannibal’s palm is warm through her shirt, and the bedroom looms in front of her like a gaping maw.

She enters like a sleepwalker, drawn over the threshold by an invisible hand. 

They haven't had sex since the Pennington case, since they had fucked in the darkened kitchen of a house where two innocents had died horribly. Since she had babbled about killing and death and only came back to herself when she felt Hannibal's come dripping down the insides of her thighs. That was a month ago, and she'd been so eaten up inside about it- filled with shame, with disgust at herself- that she'd canceled her sessions with Hannibal for nearly three weeks. It's only dumb luck (?) that brought this latest case their way; that she had to show up at the door of his office to ask for him to come with her to another crime scene. Crawford doesn't like it much, when Hannibal tags along, but she knows that she works better- thinks better- with him there.

She had expected there to be some horror in his eyes when he saw her again. But there never is. Only warmth, and a smile, and something that she can't quite place. She doesn't know why she worries, though that doesn't stop her.

She's used to scaring people off, but she isn't sure if Hannibal even _gets_ scared.

He undresses her in the darkness, lays her down naked on his bed. She's never been here before. They've had sex all of five times- once after he had invited her over for dinner, once in his office, twice in motel rooms, and that one awful perfect time in the Pennington house- but never in here. She can't see the furnishings of the room but it doesn't matter. The bed is soft, the sheets silky against her rough skin, and she is so, so tired. She closes her eyes and lets herself be swallowed.

Hannibal enters her slowly, carefully, surprisingly gentle. Usually they are up against a wall, on a table, on a couch, and it is hard and fast and beautifully painful. But she lies on her side, feeling the scratchy brush of his chest hair against her shoulder blades as he pushes in from behind. He mouths at her shoulder as he thrusts into her languidly, hands reaching around her front to cup her breasts, to stroke over her stomach. She is falling as he rocks into her, and she feels like she is adrift on the ocean, pleasure radiating through her body as he fucks her to sleep.


End file.
